Hunting the Bird
by mermaidsahoy
Summary: The sequel to "Lost Little Bird". Sandor and Sansa must flee the Dark Forest to escape the king's wrath. They set out on a journey to discover the old magic of the North and what it means for Sansa. Like the first story, this will have dashes of familiar fairy tale themes in it.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Alright, here it is! I hope you enjoy this first, easy chapter. Thank you all for being patient!

His prey was close. Even with the camouflage and intruding smells, it was not enough to conceal the mouth-watering scent that wafted his way. He inhaled it sharply through his nostrils, reveling in the delightful sweetness of it, and how it managed to bring his already hot blood to a boil.

There would be no escape for the prey now. Sandor had locked onto his target, and he was intent on closing in. Not just yet though. Better to wait, take his time, _savor_ the inevitable. It would only make the victory so much more satisfying and delicious.

In measured, silent steps, he crept closer, ears pricked forward, every muscle tensed and ready, twitching in anticipation of the unknowing feast that lay before him. He almost wished the prey would run: how delightful it would be to chase! Ah, but it would be over too soon.

The grass parted before him with barely a rustle, like a knife slipping through butter. A few feet away, he could finally see his prey through the green blades. Unable to help himself, his tongue licked at jaws, and he allowed a wicked smirk to pull at his lips. There she was, a tasty little morsel just waiting for him. A gift lain at his feet. All she was missing was a bow.

Oh yes, this was going to be very sweet indeed. No dog would turn away from such a juicy prize, and Sandor was not an exception. He hunkered down, drinking in the sight. The prey was lying still, relaxed, so innocent and unaware of the danger only a short ways away from her. He could practically taste her now, the scent was so strong, and his mouth watered with the knowledge that soon, soon, he would claim her. But still, not yet. Let her have some chance. There would still only be one outcome, but at the very least he could give her a warning. Perhaps he would get that chase after all.

Eyeing a small, gathered flock of fowl in the grass to his right, Sandor crept towards them, halting immediately when they squawked in alarm and took to the skies. There, that should give the prey enough of an idea to know she was being hunted. Eager to watch her reaction, Sandor peered through the grass to watch.

* * *

Everything was light and sweet-smelling and peaceful. Hidden in the tall grass and clumps of flowers, Sansa lay dreaming, somewhere between sleep and being awake. After so many cool days, the weather had warmed again, and the mid-morning sun smiled down on her, casting sunbeams across her skin.

Sansa smiled, reaching her arms up to stretch, then let them fall, splayed out from her body. Contentment, and happiness, had been emotions she had once feared she would never feel or experience again. But not anymore.

Some birds suddenly fluttered into the air near her, chirping madly as they pumped their wings away into the wind. Sansa lay perfectly still, listening.

Not a sound was heard except the wind rustling the tall grasses, but Sansa could feel that she was no longer alone. Something in the atmosphere had shifted around her, and slowly, carefully, she raised her head up to glance at her surroundings; first to the right, then the left.

She swallowed as the feeling of being watched washed over her, and she froze uncertainly. She could jump up, face whatever it was and run, or she could remain still, and hope that it would pass her by. She glanced to her right again, and this time she caught a sight of something dark hidden amongst the grasses.

Relief caused her to relax again, and she sat up and called out sweetly, "Sandor! You can come out now!"

After a moment, a large, hulking dog-beast stood up, towering over the grass, and moved towards her, shaking his head. "You could have at least played along," he growled. Sansa blinked at him curiously. "I didn't realize you were playing a game. What was it?" The Hound reached her and sat on his haunches, dark grey eyes roving over her body and making her skin tingle. "I was hunting you," he answered, and bent his head to snuffle at her neck. Giggling, Sansa raised her hands and sunk them into the deep fur of his chest, running her fingers up and down. Sandor's tail wagged, thumping against the grass. "I am very sorry, then, to have ruined it. I shall know better for next time." She offered him a smile and he gave her one of his doggy smirks, turning to lick her hand when she brought it near. Then he stood, shaking out his coat. "Come, little bird, let's go home and eat something." Sansa rose to her feet and brushed off her dress, and they walked together back towards the wood.

Sansa gave the meadow one last look. It was her favorite place to be, besides Sandor's arms. It was their meadow, their little serene, heavenly spot. Despite the bloodshed that had occurred there not long ago, Sansa still loved and cherished the time they spent there.

Had it really been almost a month since they had wed? Time seemed to have stood still for them, in their forest, with no one around but each other. Sansa would not have traded those weeks for anything, so happy she was.

_What a wonderful thing it is_, she thought, dreaming again, _to be in love_. Sansa could scarcely describe the glory, the wonder, the enchantment of what she felt for Sandor, and it had only grown and flourished in their short time as newlyweds. Everything she had ever read about love seemed to pale in comparison of the exquisite passion they shared. Just thinking of it made her blush and she reached to tangle her fingers in the thick fur by his shoulder.

They had wed soon after Sansa had been awakened from the sleeping curse. Neither of them wanted to waste any more time, especially Sandor, as he had come so close to losing her forever. He went to town and brought back a beautiful, light and airy dress of cream and green for her to wear. Sansa had only needed to alter it in a few places and it fit perfectly. Sandor said he had found a merchant from across the seas that had been selling bolts of cloth and fabrics, but his eyes had spotted a dress already made. The merchant told him that a customer had requested the dress to be made, only to never show up to retrieve it. Sansa was glad for that. It was the loveliest gown she had ever owned; even more than her silks in King's Landing.

Sandor also found a weirwood tree for them to say their vows by. It was still small, barely taller than a bush. "What is one doing here, so far from the North?" Sansa wondered when Sandor took her to see it. He did not know, but he agreed with her that this should be the place where they wed. Sandor did not care for the gods, old or new, but it was special to Sansa. "It will make me feel closer to the North, and to my father," she whispered softly, tracing the white bark.

Their wedding was nothing fancy or ornate, but Sansa thought it special all the same. She dressed in the gown and left her feet bare, happy that the day was going to be a warm one. Winter was coming, and even in the South those months could be cold. She had let her hair down in soft waves, and wove in tiny flowers here and there among the strands. Sandor simply wore a clean white tunic and dark pants, with his sword strapped to his side. Together they made their way to the tree and stood before it.

The morning light cast a soft glow around them as they repeated their vows to one another, as if the very air contained a magic caused by their love. Sansa had no maiden's cloak, but Sandor had a cloak that contained some of his house colors, and he draped it around her carefully. Then he knelt before her and held his sword out, pledging not only his heart to her but his strength and protection as well, the only oath he had ever taken. It brought tears of happiness to her eyes, and Sansa pulled him up so that they could kiss and seal their union before the old gods.

Just as they pulled apart for air, several dark shapes approached them through the trees. Sansa had gasped and clung to Sandor, but he only chuckled and patted her back comfortingly. "Don't worry, little bird. They are friends." Still a little uneasy, Sansa watched as one wolf, apparently the leader came forward. It rumbled low in its throat, looking at Sandor, who said, "This is Greyback, and he and the other wolves offer…congratulations on our union."

Sansa relaxed a little, and she smiled at the wolf, giving a little curtsy. "Thank you, Greyback." The wolf twitched an ear and met and Sandor's eyes again, before turning and loping off with the other wolves. "What did he say?" she asked curiously. Sandor cleared his throat and shifted back and forth before giving her a mischievous glance. "He said that he hopes we will be blessed with many pups."

Sansa had blushed and stammered out some sort of response, which was cut short as Sandor lifted her abruptly into his arms and carried her back to the cabin.

They didn't leave it for three days, using the time to love and learn each other. There was no other place that Sansa wanted to be except in his arms, snuggled down in the furs on their bed. For a man of action, Sandor seemed perfectly willing to lie there for hours with her, sharing kisses and lazily trailing his fingers over her skin. They only left the bed to make food and eat it, and even then Sansa would sit perched on his lap while they fed each other choice morsels. The cabin had become a small piece of heaven to them.

Those first days stretched into weeks as they eventually molded back into their old routines. Sandor still stayed with her, only leaving in the early morning and at night to patrol the forest and hunt. Sometimes when he came back, he would wake her, his blood up from his dog form, and he loved her under the light of the moon or the dawn. He stayed in his human form much more often, and every day he would stand in the yard and train with his sword while Sansa watched, happily sewing or baking. The days were filled with sweet contentment, and the nights were filled with a love and passion that made Sansa want to fly and sing like the little bird Sandor claimed her to be.

He had changed too, in some ways. Sandor was still gruff and course, but Sansa's love and need for him had softened the scowling, sharp edges of his soul, and he practically worshiped her. Their little domestic life was simple, but Sansa wouldn't trade any of it, not even for a castle and all the fine clothes and jewels she could ever want. Those things used to be what was important to her, but she knew now that having this with Sandor was what could make her truly happy.

Sansa's thoughts were interrupted as they reached the cabin, and Sandor changed back into his human form. Sansa had seen the change before, but it still awed and overwhelmed her every time. It was so strange to see this hulking, giant dog suddenly lighten in color, the fur disappearing until only hair remained, and he rose to stand on his hind legs, and suddenly there was a man before her. The transformation seemed so fluid and gradual, yet in the blink of an eye Sandor became one or the other. And now that they were wed, he didn't bother to hide his nakedness, though it still made Sansa blush.

He winked at her and took her hand, drawing her into the cabin, where they cooked a midday meal together, finding excuses to touch the other's hands or brush against them as they walked by. "Earlier, when you said you were hunting me," Sansa began as she chewed a piece of deer meat, "what were you planning to do if you caught me?" Sandor quirked an eyebrow at her, amused. "_When_ I caught you, I was going to ravish you, of course." He leaned and nipped at her shoulder playfully, pulling the fabric aside so he could lavish attention on her skin. Sitting in his lap, there wasn't anywhere for Sansa to go, and her hands were full of her bowl and spoon. Sighing, she giggled at his touch and the wicked grin he gave her. "It reminds me of the night you found me," she replied. "I thought you were going to eat me." That night seemed so long ago, though it hadn't even been a year since Sandor had taken her to his cabin.

He chuckled and nuzzled at her collarbone. "But I am going to eat you." He trailed fiery kisses up her neck until his mouth reached her ear. "I'm going to gobble you up, and there's nothing you can do about it, little bird." Sansa felt her heart racing, his deep raspy voice making her squirm. He pulled away then, smirking. "But not until we finish this food." Sansa smiled and granted him a peck on the lips, and they continued with their lunch.

Later, with the afternoon sun streaming through the open windows, Sansa decided to voice her worries. It was a subject she had tried to avoid since this was a time for them to enjoy each other, and she didn't want to dampen the mood. But she couldn't hold it back any longer.

She was currently nestled in Sandor's lap, with only the furs pulled up around their waists. His back was leaning against the wall that the bed was pushed up to, and his arms encircled Sansa. His fingers trailed gently up and down her spine, and Sansa had been leaning forward, resting her head just under his chin, their chests pressed together. Now she pushed herself up, placing her hands where her head had been. "Sandor?" she began quietly. His eyes were closed, and remained so as he answered, "Yes, little bird?" Sansa idly traced a pattern through the hair on his chest. "Do you…do you think King Joffrey will try to find us? Surely they have discovered the queen's body by now."

Sandor opened his eyes at that and studied her face. "It's possible," he answered. "I do not know what information the queen might have shared with her son, but I think it's safe to assume that Joffrey will be scourging the land, looking for his mother's murderer." Sansa shivered, remembering her dark days at the castle, haunted and fearful that at any moment she could be beaten and humiliated. Joffrey's poisonous smile and the evil in his green eyes were nightmares that had yet to leave her mind.

Her husband sensed her unease, and he ran his large hands up and down her arms and back soothingly. "Don't worry, little bird. I won't let any harm come to you." _No one will ever hurt you again, or I'll kill them_. It was the first promise he had ever made to her, back when they were just strangers. The thought comforted her, but she still couldn't help bite her lip in worry. "What if he finds us? What if he sends so many soldiers you can't fight them all?" Sandor's relaxed expression grew serious, and he tightened his hold on her. "If we have to leave the forest, we will," he rasped. "I will do whatever it takes to protect you. Do you trust me?" Sansa met his eyes and nodded. "Of course I do, my love. I only worry for your safety."

He pulled her back to his chest, surrounding her fully with his arms. "There, there, little bird. I'm an old dog, but I have quite a few tricks left. If we have to leave this cabin, I know plenty of places for us to go where the king can't find us." He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and Sansa smiled, relaxing once more and snuggling against him, putting her worries about the king aside for now.


	2. Chapter 2

The boy king stood in his mother's solar, staring out the window. Behind him stood members of the Kings guard, what was left of them anyways. Useless, weak fools. Couldn't even hunt down a simple-minded little girl. Got themselves killed by some…what was it? A dog. Ha.

Joffrey looked down into the courtyards and out across the land that was his kingdom, full of miserable and dirty wretches. Always complaining about food or some nonsense. His eyes coming to rest on the faint edges of the Dark Forest. That little Stark bitch. She would pay for this. She had made a mockery of him and his mother, just as her father had done before his head had been nicked off. It still adorned one of the spikes above the Keep; Joffrey liked to visit it every once in a while, and he liked the reminder it served.

He turned to face the men behind him. "Now is not the time to sit idle and let this pass," he spoke. "My mother has been laid to rest, but no one has been brought accountable. That is going to change." Joffrey pointed a finger out the window. "Take as many men as it takes. I want you to sweep the Dark Forest. Burn the whole damn thing down if you have to. But don't come back until you find the Stark bitch and whatever beast she has at her side." Cersei had told Joffrey a little of what she had learned from her informers, and he had grown up hearing stories of the Hound. Such a beast would make for interesting entertainment, Joffrey mused. Perhaps he could train it to kill for him.

"Go," he snapped at the lingering guards. They bowed and left in silence, and Joffrey sat down heavily in his mother's chair by her desk. Being king was a burden he had desired since birth, but it was difficult being surrounded by such simpletons. His mother had known how to handle them though, and Joffrey had learned best from her.

* * *

Sansa stretched her arms happily and sighed. She was lying in a hammock that Sandor had brought from town one day and hung it between two trees beside the cabin. Sansa liked to sit in it and swing, basking in the afternoon sun. Sometimes Sandor would join her and they would nap, curled into each other's arms.

Today she swung lazily, letting one leg dangle out to feel the soft grass underneath her bare foot. On warm days she preferred not to wear shoes, something her past self would not have even imagined doing. Lemon cakes were baking in the oven, the house was clean, and Sansa was committed to doing absolutely nothing the rest of the day. The air smelled so fragrant and luscious, and it lulled her into a peaceful state of mind.

The animals of the forest were, for some reason, enthralled with Sansa, and at times like these, families of bunnies, birds, and even a deer or two would wander into the yard and sit nearby while she sewed or sat in the hammock. Sansa was delighted, and she would sing and talk to them, glad for company while Sandor was gone. At the moment she was holding a small fluffy grey rabbit, perched contentedly in her lap, while more of the little animals congregated on the ground around her hammock, sniffing and hopping. Sansa hummed, running her fingers along the soft fur of the little creature in her hands.

A shadow blocked some of the sunlight, and the rabbit squirmed out of her hands and jumped out of the hammock. Sansa furrowed her brow and opened her eyes, confused, then smiled when she saw that it was Sandor leaning over the edge to look at her. He bared his teeth at her in that grin smirk she loved so much. "My," she said sleepily, stretching her arms up again. "What big teeth you have." Sandor chuckled and placed a hand on either side of her, leaning down to nip at her neck. "All the better to bite you with, my dear," he growled. She giggled then moaned when he moved farther down and started undoing the buttons on her blouse, all the while nipping at her soft skin and running one hand up her exposed ankle to her leg under the rough-spun skirt.

Sandor suddenly stiffened and whirled around, staring intently into the forest. Sansa blinked, startled by the loss of his touch, and she sat up. "What is it?" He didn't answer, just observed their surroundings, his body tensed and alert, while a hand reached up to grip the hilt of his sword. Sansa stayed quiet, knowing that if something was nearby, she shouldn't talk and bring attention to themselves.

After a few minutes, Sandor straightened and unclenched his grip on the sword. Sansa let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Sandor?" she whispered. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and she saw his face was grim, but he answered. "No need to be afraid, little bird. Not yet, anyway. Something…doesn't smell right." He focused on the forest again, before turning back around and helping her out of the hammock. The rabbits had long fled.

"Don't leave me," she whispered urgently, grasping his arm. He led her to the cabin. "I won't investigate until tonight," he replied, closing and locking the door behind them. "It'll be easier to go undiscovered then. For now, we should stay inside." "What do you think it is?" Sansa asked nervously. The cheerful mood of the afternoon was spoiled, and now all she felt was a dark cloud of fear, despite what Sandor said. "Not sure yet, it's too far away to tell," her husband answered as he looked out the window. "Could be nothing. Could be Joffrey's soldiers."

Sansa swallowed hard and sat down, worrying her apron with her hands and trembling. "Why can't we just be left alone," she said. "You didn't kill the Queen, not really. It was the lightning." "Joffrey doesn't know that." Sandor moved to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder and another on her face, raising it to meet his eyes. "There, there, little bird. It's going to be alright. I've strengthened the shield around the clearing. They won't be able to find us. I doubt very much that Joff knows about his mother's magic friend. If they do…" He shrugged. "You best believe that I will kill every one of those buggers before I let them get to you." Sansa was still worried, but she relaxed under his touch. He was right. No one could find them. They could search the entire forest and pass right by their clearing without even a glance. Sandor would protect her. Forcing herself to remain calm, she smiled up at Sandor and he kissed her.

While Sansa made supper, Sandor sat near the door, sharpening his sword and other weapons. She guessed that if it came to a fight, he wanted to do it in his human form. "Better to be prepared in every way," he grunted when he noticed her curiosity. Armor was also pulled out from the closet, dusty from not being used in a while, but Sandor cleaned it quickly and made sure it was in good order.

They ate a meal of venison and potatoes, and Sansa's lemon cakes for dessert. Sandor broke the cloud of seriousness that had hung over them all afternoon by pulling her into his lap so he could kiss and lick all the frosting off her mouth. She knew he was attempting to reassure her, and she let him. What was the use of worrying when it could be for nothing?

Later that night, Sandor turned into the Hound and left the cabin, leaving Sansa to lock the door behind him and settle into the furs on their bed to wait for his return. They kept the fire low, so not as much smoke would escape, and lit some more candles. The evening was chilly in contrast to the comfortable temperature earlier, and Sansa piled on extra furs to them warm. She lay with her face to the door, watching for his return. On the chair near the bed was a knife he had left out for her. Just in case. He had been showing her a few ways to use it, but Sansa felt doubtful that she could actually kill someone.

Gradually her eyelids drooped shut, and she dreamed. She was by a cabin that was not their own, yet it was home. Spring had only just arrived, for there were patches of green grass poking out from the melting snow. She heard laughter, and turning around, she saw two little children, one dark haired, and the other with red locks like her own. A boy and a girl. They were playing with sticks and the snow. Sansa was drawn to their laughter and she moved closer. She wanted to see their faces.

Before she could reach them, they disappeared, and instead of a cabin there were now trees. A forest. Spring had not come there yet. Snow still lay in thick layers on the ground. With sharp eyes she scanned the surroundings, lifting up her nose to smell. Something dangerous was nearby. Something wanted to hurt her. A primal growl left her mouth and she slunk forward, making no noise. She could hear everything, from the nervous twittering of a bird to the snapping of a twig made by a smaller animal. A rabbit, perhaps. Deer weren't as careless.

The fresh scent of danger became stronger, and she bared her teeth, growling. Whoever they were, they had only two choices: flee, or die. Perhaps they would die either way. Something skittered across the path in front of her, and she looked down, and was startled to see not her feet, but a paws.

With a jolt, Sansa sat up in the bed, breathing heavily. She was sweating under the furs and the fire had almost died, leaving the room nearly dark. She kicked off some of the furs and raised a hand to her forehead shakily, trying to gather her thoughts as the last vestiges of the dream evaporated. What had all those things meant?

A loud, scrapping sound erupted from the front door, causing her to cry out. "It's me, Sansa," Sandor barked out in the Hound's voice. She hurried to the door and unlocked it. Sandor sprang in, nearly knocking her over. He was breathing heavily and his fur stood on end. "Close the door!" he barked harshly. She shut it quickly, and when she turned back he was human again, throwing on clothes.

"Sandor, what is it?" she cried. "Bloody buggering soldiers," he growled. "A small army of them, bearing the king's sigil. They are setting fire to the forest. They mean to flush us out." He was almost snarling, and Sansa couldn't help but shrink from the mad look in his eyes. They were dark, darker than she had ever seen, and full of anger. "We have to leave, not even the shield can withstand a fire like that," he ground out as he began to fit on his jerkin and armor. "We have some time before the fire reaches the clearing, they are a good ways away." Sansa nodded, and she hurried to retrieve a pack from under the bed. She stuffed in a few dresses, nightgowns, her comb, and a blanket. Then she hurried to the kitchen area and packed up some apples, cheese, bread, and dried meat, also filling two skins with water. All the while her hands shook and Sandor strapped on his armor and all his weapons. When finished, he roughly packed a few clothing items for himself.

The mad look in his eyes had not faded, and he was mumbling curses under his breath. Sansa watched him, worried, then she remembered his scars. The fire. _He's afraid_, she realized. Other men might call being frightened of fire a weakness, but she knew. Sandor had never told her the full story of his scars, but she didn't need to know the details to be sure that it had been a horrible, painful experience, one that could not be erased no matter how long he had lived.

_I am a wolf, I can be brave_. She had to be brave. She had to be brave for him.

Sansa grabbed one of her warmer dresses and slipped out of her night-shift to put it on. Her hands fumbled with the buttons, and tears of frustration pricked at her eyes. This wasn't fair. They shouldn't be forced to flee their home. Once again the Lannisters sought to take away everything she held dear.

She pulled on her boots too, then stood, trying not to sniffle as she glanced around the cabin, searching for anything else they might need. Sandor stepped up to her, and placed his hands, now covered in gauntlets, on her shoulders. He looked so strong and wild and fierce in his armor, with his face set and ready for battle. Sansa chewed her bottom lip at she peered up at him uncertainly.

"Little bird," he rasped finally, putting a cold metal finger under her chin. "We are going to run for the town. Hopefully there will be enough confusion that we won't be easily noticed. I will find horses and some more supplies for us there." He paused, the rage and madness in his eyes smoldering. "I will not let them hurt you. Do you understand?" She nodded numbly. "Anyone touches you, I will kill them." He tightened his grip on her, not enough to hurt, but to enough to reveal the fury of emotions trapped inside him. He leaned down and whispered into her ear. "You are mine, little bird. As I am yours. Do you trust me?" Again, she nodded, and managed a weak "Yes, my love."

"Good then."

He moved his burned mouth to hers, and she kissed him back, desperate to show how much she loved and trusted him. When they parted, she took hold of his chest so he couldn't pull away just yet. "I know we will be ok, Sandor," she told him softly, hoping her voice would calm him. "I love you." The scowl on his face softened, and he brushed her hair back before placing another kiss on her forehead. "As do I, little bird. Here," he handed her the small knife, sheathed with a cord attached. "Just in case. You remember where the heart is, girl?" It was one of the first things he had taught her. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Yes." He nodded. "Alright, let's go."

She followed him out the front door. It was still dark, but in the distance, over the treetops, Sansa could make out an orange glow wreathed in smoke. The fire.

Sandor started running, and she followed. Deep into the woods they hurried, past spots and paths Sansa had grown to recognize. It was then she realized they may never see their cabin again, and it made tears come to her eyes. She brushed them with the back of her hand.

The town, unfortunately, lay in the direction of some of the fire, and soon they began smell smoke. Sandor cursed under his breath and checked on her. Sansa was not used to running much, and she was wearing a skirt. They stopped for a moment, panting. "We aren't far," Sandor told her. How he could run in with all the armor and weapons she did not know. She already felt worn out just with her pack.

There was a noise like a twig snapping, and Sansa jumped as Sandor pulled his longsword out, quick as lightning. The rage from earlier returned, and he set his jaw and bared his teeth. "Come out, you bastards," he rasped. Sansa clutched at the dagger at her waist, praying she wouldn't have to use it.

Three soldiers emerged from the dark bushes, each with their own swords drawn. "Look, it's the girl," one of them said, nodding towards Sansa. "But who's this big ugly brute?" Sandor gave out a low, scraping chuckle that made her hair stand on end. "You're about to find out."

The men looked at each other. "We have no quarrel with you. All we want is the lady and the Hound," the first man spoke again. "Help us, and I'm sure the King will reward you greatly. Gold, a title, whores, whatever you'd want." Sandor spat on the ground to show what he thought. "Bugger that. Bugger you. And bugger the King." The men frowned and began to move into fighting stances, spreading out. "Then you'll have to die," the knight said.

They attacked him together, but even three against one, Sandor proved to be a formidable opponent. He bared right and slashed one of the men, the longsword cutting through his arm. The man screamed as blood spurted out and he fell to the ground. The two other men took turns swinging at Sandor, and he blocked their attacks easily. He had not been alive for so many years for nothing. Sansa did not know much about the skill that went into combat, but she could tell Sandor's prowess was far beyond these knights.

She backed away, clutching the dagger, watching and praying to the old gods that Sandor would not be harmed. Her husband gave a wicked laugh as one of the men staggered and fell to one knee, and the other took a step back. "That all you got?" he taunted. He was barely panting. This was child's play to him, Sansa realized. This was nothing more than a warm-up.

The knight who had spoken charged at Sandor again, parrying faster and harder blows. Sandor deflected them and began to deliver his own attacks, moving on the offensive, driving the man backwards. Sansa noticed the other knight with the hurt leg moving towards her husband's back. He was going to attack him from behind!

"Sandor, watch out!" she cried.

Sandor ducked just as the knight swung at him, almost hitting his companion. In a flash, he pulled out his own knife and thrust it into the man's lug, all the way to the hilt. The other knight shouted and charged at Sandor, who had straightened, but he blocked the sword and, with a twist, knocked it from his hands. The knight fumbled for another sword at his waist but Sandor grabbed him, and as the man pleaded he ran his sword through the man's neck, ending his words with a gurgle of blood. Sansa's stomach lurched at the sight, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.

The stabbed knight had fallen, groaning and trying to back away on his hands. Sandor marched towards him and pulled his helmet off. Baring his teeth, he leaned in close to the man's face and snarled, "Enjoy your time in the seven hells. Too bad your knightly vows won't help there." Sansa covered her eyes as Sandor slit the man's throat as well, but she couldn't block the choking sounds as he died.

There was a bit of silence, and she peeked out between her fingers. Sandor was wiping his sword off on one of the knight's cloaks. His chest had spurts of blood dripping down it, and his face had blood on it too. She couldn't tell if it was from him or not.

He straightened and turned towards her. The rage and blood thirst she had seen in his eyes as he fought was still there, and she didn't know if she should be frightened or in awe. He stepped towards her carefully, like he was trying not to startle a deer. "Little bird?" he rasped, extending a hand. She took it; her palm looked so small and frail inside of his large metal-clad one. "Are you hurt?" she asked, gesturing towards his face. "Just a scratch," he said. "I'll wash it later. We have to keep moving before more of those buggers show up." Sansa nodded, and a look of worry flashed across his face as he studied her. "I'm alright," she faltered, trying to convince herself more than him.

She knew he didn't believe her, but there was no time to discuss it now. They had to keep going.

Sandor held her hand this time, helping her along until they reached the village. There he sheathed his sword and used some water to rinse the blood off his breast-plat and arms. From the well where they stood, Sansa could see the orange glow had grown higher, and a thick grey cloud mixed with the night sky. She thought of all the poor animals, trying to escape the fire's wrath, and tears pricked at her eyes again. This was all her fault.

Sandor reached around her and pulled her hood up. "Keep your hair covered and your face down," he rasped quietly. "No doubt soldiers are here too. We won't be staying long." She nodded again, her eyes on his feet until he tilted her chin up with a soft, "Look at me." He had cleaned the blood off his face, and she could see he was trying to hold back the beast, the Hound, that lurked inside, even in his human form. She swallowed and raised on her tiptoes, kissing him softly. "Let us hurry then," she said.

He led her to an inn, noisy and full of light despite the hour. The innkeeper was a fat, jolly man, and he welcomed them with almost too much enthusiasm. "Rooms? Dinner?" "Not tonight," Sandor replied. "Where can I get two horses?" The man scratched his stubbly chin. "This time of the night? Well…Old Lucas got a horse or two, might be. He'll be in bed now, most like." "Never mind that," Sandor said. "Here," he flipped the man a coin. "You never saw us, we were never here." The innkeeper bit on the coin, then nodded, pocketing it. Sandor took Sansa by the arm and escorted her outside.

"Where are we going?" she asked in a low voice, though there was no one around. Aside from the inn, the rest of the village was asleep. "To get those horses," Sandor rasped, leading her along down the pathway. He stopped at a house on the edge of the road. It was tall and leaning, with a small stable in the back. "Wait here, little bird. Whistle if you see anyone," he said, and she watched as he jumped the fence and headed into the stable.

Sansa gaped after him. Was he going to steal the horses? Nervously she glanced around, and jumped when she heard a horse whinnying inside the stable. She gave the house a terrified look, but it remained dark and quiet. Old Lucas must be a heavy sleeper.

A while later she finally saw Sandor leading out a giant, black horse. She gasped when they came closer and Sandor unlocked the gate so they could pass through. "Only one horse," he announced. "But this one will do nicely. A good war horse, I'd say. Bad-tempered too. That's good." He sounded proud and already fond of the beast. Sansa licked her lips uncertainly as the horse's eyes rolled towards her and it gave a snort. "Don't know where Old Lucas picked this one up, but he's better off without it." "How did…how did you get it saddled and everything? Didn't he try to bite you?" Sansa asked. "Sure he did," Sandor said giving the horse a pat on the neck. "But I spoke to him, calmed him down. Seems to like me more than the other humans." "But Sandor…we can't steal him!" she wrung her hands.

"I left some gold in the stable. Enough to buy a new horse and more. Not quite stealing now, is it?"Sansa answered with a shaky smile.

She watched as her husband took their packs and stuffed them into the saddlebags, then he turned to her. "Up you go, little bird." Sansa glanced at the horse warily. "Um…" "He won't hurt you." Sandor picked her up by the waist and settled her in the front of the saddle. The horse gave an impatient stomp with his hoof, but stayed still. Sandor swung up then, and his arms encircled her as he gathered the reins. He clicked his tongue, and the horse started to trot away.

Sansa arranged her skirts so she could sit more comfortably, and leaned back into Sandor's chest. He switched the reins into one hand and stroked her cheek with another. "Alright, sweet bird?" he murmured into her hair. Sansa was starting to relax more, and she leaned into his touch. "Yes. I was frightened earlier." "Aye." He was quiet a moment. "Scared you did I? Fighting like that." She shifted, eager for his warmth. "A little. I wasn't frightened of _you_, really. Just…I'm not used to such violence." She felt him nod as he inhaled the scent of her hair. "It had to be done, little bird. I would kill thousands of those men, if only to keep you safe."

She reached up and placed a hand on his scarred cheek. "I know."

They rode in silence for a few minutes, leaving the town behind them. "So, what shall we name you, hmm?" Sandor spoke to the horse, taking the reins in both hands now. "Let's see…How about "Stranger"?" Sansa gasped. "Sandor! That's blasphemous!" He laughed roughly and kicked the horse into a faster gait. "Stranger it is."

A/N: There will be some more of Joffrey, but small sections. I don't like to stay inside his head very long :/

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I'm sorry this update is so short, but it is more of a transition than anything. I hope you still enjoy it!

The moon was high in the sky by the time they had put a good many miles between them and the forest. Sandor guided Stranger down a little-used path, studying the surrounding hillside carefully. He did not want to run into any of the King's soldiers, but seeing as they were still deep in the South, Sandor knew that the chances they would avoid anyone completely were slim.

The little bird had fallen asleep a ways back. She leaned into his torso, head turned against his shoulder. She had kept her cloak pulled up to hide her hair, but Sandor snuck a few fingers under the hood to stroke her fiery waves and her soft cheek. He kept his arms close around her, trying to give her as much warmth and comfort as she could get on the back of a horse. It was probably a good thing she had drifted off.

Sandor was not exactly sure where they should go now, but North seemed to be the best option they had for now. If it seemed too dangerous he would try to get them passage to one of the Free Cities, though he hated the thought of being trapped in by buildings and deserts. It would be difficult to become the Hound there, as well.

Perhaps they would find some of the last remains of the Northern Rebellion. Northerners were the stubborn, fight-to-the-death type, and they had not relinquished hold on their cold and bleak homeland easily. If they saw that Sansa Stark was still alive, it might give them hope. But would they want her to rally them? Would they want her to lead them and become a Queen in the North? No doubt they would argue against her marriage to him, claiming she should be with some Northern lord who would only want her to give him sons and toss her aside when he grew fonder of whores…

Sandor growled and held the girl tighter to him. _Mine_. She belonged to _him_. No other man would ever set their dirty paws on his lovely little bird, not when there was still breath in his lungs. The girl had chirped her vows prettily, tying herself to him for life, and he did not take that lightly. Sandor would kill anyone that tried to stand between him and Sansa.

A black mood descended on him at these thoughts, fueling his distaste for these faceless, nameless lords and he leaned to the side to spit in the dirt. _Bugger them_. The girl stirred in his arms, and placed a hand on the crook of his elbow, giving a soft sigh as she continued to doze. Sandor's lip curled up into a satisfied smirk as he watched her, and though the low moonlight allowed them to travel hidden in shadows, he wished he could see more of her face.

Being married to Sansa had increased his appetite for her more than when she had merely shared the cabin with him. He wanted her body, soul, and heart, and to feel those things being freely given to him was an astonishing phenomenon, yet he accepted them greedily. After coming so close to living without her, of knowing she had essentially been dead, Sandor had been loath to wait any longer to make her truly his. Sansa affirmed that she felt the same way, and she eagerly joined him in the forest to say their vows, wearing the dress he got for her. The dress that, later, had nearly been ripped in two from his desire to be close to her.

The girl had grown lovelier each day of their new life, and Sandor drank in her care-free, sweet spirit. She had always been beautiful and kind, but he could see an invisible weight pressing down on her, and cloud of sorrow and fear that followed her wherever she went. Sansa had tried to conceal it, but Sandor knew what she felt. He had felt it himself for many years, and after experiencing certain kinds of pain and loss, one can always see it easily in others. After their love was proclaimed and promised to each other, the weight had lifted. She was much happier, her skin practically glowing from their wedded bliss. Sandor was completely lost to her; he'd fight armies for her or go with her to pick flowers if that was she needed.

And now this had to happen. Sandor suspected it wouldn't have been long before the queen's murderer was hunted down, but he hadn't thought it would mean a threat to the entire forest. As they escaped he had seen the flocks of birds, deer, rabbits, even bears fleeing their homes, trying to escape the flames. Seeing a fire that large, with intent of flushing he and the little bird out, had caused a vicious black fury to fill his veins, such that he had not felt before except against his brother, Gregor.

Sansa suddenly flinched and bolted awake with a gasp. Sandor quickly pulled the reins on Stranger. "What is it, little bird?" he asked, glancing around. Her face was pale and she clenched at his gauntlet. "I…it was just a dream," she finally answered. Sandor furrowed his brow and he studied her carefully, rubbing her shoulder as gently as he could. "Where are we?" she asked after a moment. He clicked the reins so that Stranger would resume their course.

"Near some hills a couple of miles from the Blackwater," he rasped quietly. "We'll stop soon, let the horse rest, and I can do some patrolling." Sansa nodded and leaned back into him, curling her arms around one of his own. Sandor kissed her temple, exposed from the hood falling back when she awoke. "The fire," she whispered. "All those poor animals…" "Aye…it is a waste. Pure foolish waste." He spat over the side again to punctuate that sentence. Destroying the forest was folly on Joffrey's part; despite it's dark parts and the tales Sandor had allowed to be spun concerning the Hound, it had provided food and wood to the city and surrounding villages. The king had just thrust his subjects into even greater turmoil than they already had been from the war.

Sandor found a thicket, overgrown with bent over trees, shielding a small open space. It was a perfect place for them to hide for the night. He climbed off Stranger and helped Sansa down, then led Stranger into the brush, ducking under the branches, and she followed him.

It would be too dangerous to start a fire, but with their furs they would be warm enough. Sandor tied Stranger up and took the bags and saddle off, patting him down and giving him some apples and grain he had swiped from the farmhouse. Sansa looked weary, but she set about laying out their furs to sleep on and setting out some food. He joined her quickly, pulling her towards him until she settled in his lap and they ate while the crickets chirped and the owls hooted.

Afterwards he decided to do some scouting. The little bird wrung her hands, looking worried. "I don't want you to go," she fretted. "You'll be just fine, little bird," Sandor insisted, stroking her hair and cheek. "Stranger will look after you. And you've still got that knife I gave you. No one will think to search for us in the brush. I won't go very far." Sansa bit her lip but relented. As much as he wanted her not to worry, Sandor couldn't help but feel pleased by her concern for him. It was delightful to see her big round eyes and pouting lips, watching him as he shed his clothing in order to transform. The sight made him grab her for a good long kiss, only pulling when he felt tempted to forget patrolling and stay with her. He surged into the Hound's form, welcoming the heightened senses and animalistic power, and shook his fur and shaggy head.

"Be careful," Sansa murmured, reaching out to touch his fur. He nuzzled at her face and neck, then turned to creep out under the trees.

* * *

Sansa had intended to stay awake until he got back, but the events of the night had exhausted her and she fell back asleep, only to awaken by the dream once more. This was third time she had had it, and it was always the same: she would see the two children playing, then she would become a wolf, stalking prey in a snow-covered wood. What could it mean? Sansa was deeply troubled by such a dream, not because of what occurred in it, exactly, but because every detail mirrored the first dream, and it felt so…real. _Too_ real.

She glanced around the thicket, untouched save for their belongings and Stranger, who was dozing quietly. That was a relief, at least. If there was danger nearby, Sansa was sure the horse would know quickly. She clutched the furs under her chin, wishing Sandor would come back.

As if on cue, a rustling sound moved through the branches and Stranger tossed his head, whinnying softly. A large, dark shape emerged, blinking its shining eyes. "You're still awake, little bird?" a deep voice growled, and the Hound loomed over her sleeping form, snuffling at her forehead. "Only just now," she responded, pleased to see he had returned unharmed. "Is everything alright? Did you see anything?" The Hound climbed on some of the furs and lay down, and she automatically curled into his side, seeking comfort. "We are undetected, for now. I wager the soldiers have their hands full with angry villagers over the forest fire, and I saw no troops near here."

He leaned his massive head down and rubbed it against her, like a cat. Sansa smiled and planted a kiss on his shaggy face, earning a playful growl and his tail wagged. "I meant to stay in this form the rest of the night, but you are tempting me, girl," he snarled, baring rows of sharp white teeth at her. She giggled and lifted a hand to scratch under his chin, a favorite spot of his she had discovered a few days before. "What's stopping you, husband?" she asked innocently, batting her lashes at him. Sandor let a harsh bark that she knew was laugh, and moments later she was wrapped in two powerful arms and trapped against hot, naked skin as Sandor kissed her fiercely.

Later, with the moon peering through the leaves of the trees above them, Sansa told Sandor of her reoccurring dream. He listened closely, and though it was dark she could see he wore a thoughtful expression. "What do you think it means?" Sansa whispered, tracing patterns on his chest with her fingertips. Her husband stayed silent for a while, gazing up at the sky. "I am not sure," he finally answered. "It is exactly the same, every time?" "Yes, nothing changes, and I dream it every time I fall asleep." He was silent again, and just as she was starting to doze off again he spoke, "We are going North, and on our way I will bring you to someone."

Sansa blinked and looked up at him. "Who? Someone who can tell me what my dream means?" "Perhaps. She is…better at those sorts of things than I am." Sansa was instantly curious. "Is she a skin-changer, like you?" "No, lass, but she is….she knows magic. She has powers." At that she shuddered. "Forgive me, my love, but the last time a woman with magic came near me, I was almost separated form you forever." His arms tightened around her, and he rolled onto his side so they face one another. "Believe me, I have not forgotten that, little bird. But I would not bring you to such a woman if I did not trust her. Will you trust me? I too, want to know what this dream of yours means." Sansa nodded, feeling more relieved about this decision. "I do trust you, my love," she said, kissing him softly. "Do you really think she will be able to help?" "Might be. She's a witch, of sorts, but not at all a bad type, least not to me. We go way back."

If Sandor trusted this person, then Sansa decided she needn't be afraid. If the woman could tell her what her dream meant, then maybe she would stop having it. Sansa did not relish feeling the wolf's need to kill and destroy whatever was in those woods, yet she secretly felt bonded, somehow, to this figment of her imagination.

She was a Stark, a wolf, of Winterfell, after all.


End file.
